Flynn’s been at his new Mexican preschool for about a month now, and according to him, he still has no friends. Every few days he’ll come home and tell us he learned a new boy or girl’s name.

“Oh, is that your new friend?” we’ll ask.

“No,” he’ll say.

“But how did you learn his name?” we’ll ask. “Did he play with you?”

“No,” he’ll tell us again. “I need to learn Spanish first. Then he’ll be my friend and play with me.”

“Did he tell you that?” we’ll ask.

“No,” he’ll reply. “I just know it myself.”

It’s kind of heartbreaking, right? We ended up sending him to a bilingual preschool in the hopes of easing this transition, but it seems that only the teacher knows English. The kids are all there because their parents want them to learn it, but they don’t speak any yet. I don’t think anyone’s being mean to Flynn. And I don’t think he’s unhappy. Every day we ask him if he likes school and whether he wants to go back, and to those questions we always get an emphatic yes.

But still, I  hope he makes some friends soon. Or picks up more Spanish. Actually, both.